The Lodestone Saga:: Book One The Sword of VaLor

By Robert Louis Engleman

Leon had grown up without parents. He had seen all that he knew and loved destroyed by the wild warriors that sailed in from the North on their boats with the heads of mythical dragons on the prows. But he had a gift that even he didn’t know he had. As he grew to be a young man, his life became complicated, and how he mastered his gift cou

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Mar 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643670713

Robert Louis Engleman

Robert Louis Engleman is a retired electrician who found pleasure in reading science fiction and fantasy novels from a time, well before TV, while he was in his early teens. When he was eighteen, and still in the army, he wrote his first full length novel. That was actually well before computers believe it or not. The arrival of computers simplified the process greatly, and retirement gave him the necessary time. This book is one of a series of fantasy and science fiction novels that he has called the Lodestone Saga. He lives on a small ranch in Washington State and raises horses, (three, at present), dogs (one, at present) and plays servant to cats (three, also at present). He enjoys horseback riding, skiing, and sailing. He hopes that you'll find even a small portion of the pleasure reading his stories that he had writing them.

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The Lodestone Saga: Book One

Copyright © 2018 by Robert Louis Engleman. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

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Published in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-64367-070-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64367-071-3 (Digital)

Fiction

18.10.18

Contents

Introduction

1 A Meeting In Time

2 The Grotto

3 The Smithy

4 First Battle

5 The Blue Keep

6 The Portal

7 Mero Wood

8 Of Dwarves and Bones

9 Val

10 Allece

11 Old Home

12 The Watchers

13 The Wyrm and the Sword

14 Coming Of The King

15 Planing and Parting

16 Road To Maldor

17 Battle of Catch Mountain

18 Maldor

19 The Gathering

20 The Final Battle

21 The Magic

Glossary

Book two: The Tiara of Thann, Sample

INTRODUCTION

For their pleasure, the Gods created an inter-dimensional reality which they called the Eight Sister Worlds. They made them all geological reflections of the original, Sithia, though each one was topographically different in ways that pleased them. Each world lay in its own dimension and time. They placed a variety of flora, fauna and beings upon the worlds that they might enjoy the resulting interaction. The beings were precious to the Gods, for they had made them in their own image. The Gods gave the beings strength that they might endure, desire that they might strive, hearts that they might experience joy, sorrow and love; and finally, intellect that they might choose for themselves. And they gave each world Magic as pleased them, this to one, that to another.

To prevent their creations from falling into complete darkness, which one of the Gods favored, and knowing there must be opposition in all things, they set in place, the Blue Keeps in each of those worlds, the Lodestone and the shards of the Stone that were to become pendants for their chosen warrior Knights of the Stone. When they were done, they called it the beginning, the Year of the Stone.

Herein are stories of two of those worlds, Ganor and VaLor’, But to begin we look at the developing of the great Evil, this takes us to Sithia, the eighth world.

5223 AS (After the Year of the Stone)

SITHIA Eighth Sister World

DEMON SORCERER

The sorcerer Korshan stood wrapped in thoughts as dark as his robe. Here within the deepest bowels of this ancient, long dormant volcano, he was the undisputed ruler, the master, the King. Here he ruled absolute, but what of the surface of this land known as Sithia? What of the millions of people, who lived in the light on the surface, and what about the other seven worlds? He must rule them all at any cost! His mind cried out with the need to hold it all in his grasp. With the power that was soon to be his, he could destroy what remained of the Brotherhood of the Stone, those second rate wizards and their handful of slightly gifted fools—they would not stop him this time. Now he would bring an age of endless, blissful darkness to the surface and turn loose the hordes of the void. His ethereal army would crush all resistance, would turn the peoples of the surface into slaves, food and playthings. Then, one by one he would set his minions to work on the other worlds and draw them slowly but surely into his grasp. But first he must meld with the Demon Thantox, lord of the void. Only then would he have the necessary power.

His spell had to be just right.

This far beneath the extinct volcano’s throat nothing lived, not insects, not even mold, nothing. It was a totally sterile environment, a necessity for his spell. His eyes glowed faintly red with his infra-vision, the only light in, otherwise, total blackness. He began by slowly tracing an octagon on the smooth granite floor. Then, from a pouch that he drew from within his voluminous robes, he dribbled yellow phosphorescent powder around it in a continuous stream. Once completed, the Octagon produced a soft shimmering light. The walls of the small natural cavern were barely discernible in the subdued glow of the powder. Ceremoniously, at each of the octagon’s points he materialized and placed a single waist high candle stand with a foot tall candle secured in a large earthen bowl. The only difference in the eight points was the bowl at the north point being half again bigger than the other seven. Standing in front of the northern tip he shuddered, then, shrugging off any doubt, hummed a single low note as he reached out and touched the wick of the candle before him. The candle leapt afire; the room saw real light for the first time ever. Slowly, humming the single tone softly, he walked around the octagon touching each candle bringing them to life as he went. The chamber walls now shimmered. Shadows moved about the walls, a result of the displacement of the air on the candles as he walked. Again standing at the north point, he brought forth from his robe a needle sharp, finely honed knife about eight inches long. In a high singsong voice he began to chant. Careful not to step into the octagon, he slowly walked around its perimeter. With great ceremony he pared off a single bit of fingernail at each point and dropped it into the earthen bowl. Returning the knife to his robe he again walked around the octagon chanting and placing bits of dark leaves into each bowl. He went around a fourth time dropping a single large, drop of spittle into each bowl. On the fifth round he placed a small scrap of parchment with a rune written on it into each bowl. And a sixth time around he placed a large pinch of mineral ingredients from a small leather pouch into each bowl. On the seventh trip he laid a single hair from his head and a single piece of quartz stone about the size of an egg into each bowl being sure to place the hair on top of the stone. The large north bowl received the biggest stone. Finally, he once again drew forth the dagger and deliberately, deeply sliced his finger with his knife. Still chanting he walked slowly around the octagon, dripping precisely eight drops of blood into each bowl. Once again at the north point, and still chanting, he laid the knife on the floor before him, healed the cut with a single word and slipped the robe from his frail nearly emaciated frame. He laid the robe carefully next to the knife outside the octagon, standing with only a light cotton wrap around his loins. With increasing intensity his chanting echoed off the cavern walls. Hurriedly, he stepped into the octagon. With a flick of his wrist, at a particularly high note in his chant, he gestured at the candles. Their brightness increased eight times, shattering the gloom that had lain heavily over the chamber. Lightning leapt from his fingers and flew about the octagon. His chanting grew stronger. The acrid smell of ozone filled the air. One by one he faced the points of the octagon and, gesturing, the bowls began to steam. All around him lightning danced, burning the octagon deep into the granite floor.

Directly in the center of the octagon a mist began to take form. With several distinct commands a large head could be seen to coalesce out of swirling clouds of purple mist. Shoulders and torso soon followed.

Thantox, the Demon Lord, was not happy. Why do you summon me mortal? the voice thundered with obvious disdain, ear shattering within the chamber.

The sorcerer’s voice droned on.

Fool!, roared the demon, What magical tricks do you attempt now?

The sorcerer stood fast, chanting even louder, his frail body seeming to quake at the demon’s voice.

The demon sneered, By entering into the casting lines you have placed yourself into my realm. Perhaps it is now time for me to destroy you and stop your endless meddling into mysteries you cannot begin to fathom.

The sorcerer suddenly stopped. Sweat oozed down his forehead turning to icy rivulets that ran down his face in the chill of the cavern. In a determined tone that gradually grew stronger, he looked full into the eyes of Thantox and said, I have decided that the only way I can conquer the eight worlds is if I become the Lord of the void.

Fully fifteen feet tall and nearly completely solid now, Thantox could easily squash the small man, if he could move, which he could not until he was completely solidified. How do you propose to do that little man?

I have already done it. With just three more words and two gestures, you will meld with me and we, together, will rule both the abyss and the eight worlds. That is, of course, if you allow it. Should you choose not to however, I merely change one word and you die, immortal or not.

There is no such spell, thundered the demon.

Perhaps there wasn’t, but now there is and it will work.

I don’t believe you! roared the demon.

Then, I guess I will just have to destroy you and deal with your successor. With that he raised his hands and began to gesture. Let me know if you change your mind. He spoke one of the words, a long complex thing of many syllables. Gesturing he began the next, long, long, long word.

The demon was nearly solid. Sweat had formed in tiny beads over his entire body now and he shivered slightly as a chill set into his flesh.

Thantox suddenly became aware of his life force beginning to shift, a feeling he had never before experienced. Something was wrong; he felt weak and sickly. Could it be true? He had never felt weak or sick before.

Hold, shouted the demon.

The sorcerer looked up.

What do I gain out of this….ah, arrangement?

You and I will become one being. We will be the most powerful being in all of the eight worlds, but my intellect will rule the combined body. You will, however, live on, which will be better than the alternative. Choose quickly, the time is running out as is my patience.

You lie human! The demon spat the words out in obvious contempt. This has never been done before.

Then you have nothing to fear.

Once more the gesturing began. Once more began the feeling of being torn apart from within. The demon felt sick. Demons don’t feel sick! He knew now that the sorcerer had won. All right, he whispered, defeated for the first time. This was a terrible, degrading new feeling, for when demons are defeated they become little or nothing to the rest of the demon world. But now that I am defeated who will follow me.…us?

Take heart Thantox. Combined, we will be far, far more powerful than you ever could have imagined. With that the Wizard spoke the last very short word and relaxed in anticipation. All at once he could feel himself beginning to disintegrate into thick, purple, mists, his body cried out in terror, his mind raced with questions, then his screams mingled with those of the demon, echoing up the winding corridors toward the upper chambers of the long dead volcano.

… A small, bearded figure in a bright yellow robe darted out of its hiding place in a low narrow passageway and ran quickly to the octagon. In a fluid motion it threw a handful of leaves and flower petals into the swirling mists, then scurried back to the safety of the passageway and fled, screams echoing in its ears as it hurried away …

Blackness surrounded the sorcerer. He felt strange, as though his skin no longer fit. A thick, acrid taste sat heavily in his mouth and a smell like rotting flesh assailed his nostrils. Slowly he moved. Everything felt strange. His head throbbed. With a simple spell he quelled the ache in his head, then willed a light to appear above. Dim though it was, it caused his eyes to blink in discomfort. He lay in the center of the octagon, now a still smoking line, etched deep into the stone floor as though acid had cut its way down into the granite. Struggling to rise to his feet, he could see that the spell had indeed worked. He stood nearly fifteen feet tall. His skin had a decidedly gray cast and was hard and scaly. A wave of his hand turned the air before him into a solid shining surface in which he could see his reflection. He couldn’t prevent the reaction; he flinched back in disgust. The face reflecting back had a definite resemblance to his own, but it nestled in a head with wild green hair, horns that turned forward over small pointy ears and fangs that stood out in a mouth that seemed to hang slightly open. Uncontrollably, he shivered.

What did you expect, a fairy prince?

The voice had come from within his head.

Surely you didn’t expect I would be totally gone?

I wasn’t sure how your half would influence me. I only knew that it must be done. His voice was strong and thundered through the cavern.

"It isn’t necessary to shout, I can hear your thoughts you know."

He stumbled cautiously to the edge of the octagon, and hesitantly stepped over it. Relieved that it hadn’t held him inside, he stooped to retrieve his robe. He gestured and it grew large enough for him to wear.

"Must I be forced to wear these distasteful rags? At least allow me to be garbed in something more regal." There was a flash of light and the familiar black robe had changed to bright purple fringed in orange and green.

The sorcerer was shocked. He hadn’t expected the demon to have any power other than through him. As soon as the thought struck him the voice said, "What? Was I to be a silent and obedient servant? It seems that I am more of a reluctant, possibly troublesome, partner."

Korshan made a quick mental shift, blocking the demon out of his thoughts; the demon must not be allowed to penetrate his plans too deeply.

Now, that wasn’t nice. How are we to work together if we are separated in this manner? There was definite sarcasm in the thought.

Once more he brought forth the shining reflective surface. Actually, he made a rather imposing figure. Enough of this, there is work to do and I am anxious to be about it. If you can contain yourself long enough we are about to bring a new order to the world above. Almost casually he walked around the octagon and picked out of each bowl a flat, blood red, amulet about as big around as a chicken egg and flat as a coin, all that was left of the ingredients he had put in the bowls. Finally, out of the largest bowl he removed one nearly twice the size of the others, saying as he did, And one with which to control the others. From within his robe he produced a golden chain, which he sealed to the amulet with a simple spell, and placed the chain over his head. Finally, he turned and strode purposefully toward the passage that would take him…them to the surface.

I think we are more Thantox than Korshan, so we should be called Thantox.

But it is I, Korshan, who is in control.

His long, rather heavy and heretofore unnoticed tail suddenly got in front of his left foot causing him to trip and fall forward. Only a quick, reflexive spell kept him from hitting the ground and getting a bruising. He stood up straight, and took a swipe at his robe as though he were dusting himself off, All right, all right, how about…ah…Kortox. A lack of response signaled at least a temporary acceptance.

PROLOGUE

5207 AS, VaLor’ First Sister World

The Great War stopped. It wasn’t won by anyone. It just stopped. It just ran out of fuel, manpower, blood, will, and of course—magic, the excessive use of which nearly destroyed their world. Both forces had returned to their own lands to rebuild and prepare for the future, a future that both knew would again bring war. Two wizards remained of the many that had guarded VaLor’ and they knew that sooner or later Xzuron, the evil sorcerer, and his armies of darkness would come again. The writings of the ancient prophet, Orn, assured them it would be so. Without hesitation the wizards set about preparing for that day.

5507 AS, World of VaLor’

Three hundred years had passed since Xzuron the sorcerer had returned to Mount Orag without victory. There he had plotted, planned and gradually regained his former strength. He had been reduced to a shadow of the powerful being that had brought his armies against the VaLor’ians at North Fort. The cost of the war had been great to both. The armies of VaLor’ had nearly perished in the battle. During that battle, great amounts of magical energy had been released, leaving the plain of Comark barren and lifeless still, three hundred years later.

In the huge cavern, deep within the heart of Mount Orag, lava bubbled in slow flowing streams. Fire danced and fumes leapt high into the air mixing with gasses and ash. Up it swirled, lifted by the heat, up the great chimney that was the throat of the long slumbering volcano. As the heat rose up the chimney, fresh air was drawn into the cavern through the many tunnels that led out into the world of mankind. But here, within the volcano only one man dwelt—Xzuron; Xzuron the Great, Xzuron the Powerful, Xzuron the Magnificent. He stood, cloaked in black, his sorcerer’s hands tucked into the sleeves of his night black robe. The other occupants of this oppressive environment were his subjects. Satros who had once been human, but their greed and avarice led them into Xzuron’s lair and, inevitably, his total control. The other beings were morags, beings formed from the elements of the earth and slavishly under the control of Xzuron and his satros. Xzuron, stared with satisfaction at the forming platform below him. Eight of his sixteen faithful satros, knelt with one hand on the ground and the other pointed at the platform. Dust and molecules would gather, charged with the life and soul of the earth and every few minutes a figure, a head taller than a tall man and much broader, would form. A new morag warrior had been created. The new warrior was then pulled aside, clothed, and armed. Finally, its training would begin, and another morag warrior joined the throng assembling on the floor of the huge cavern, Any of the new life forms that appeared less than acceptable, too small, too badly misshapen, not enough arms or legs, were thrown to the rapidly increasing throng and were torn apart and eaten on the spot by those that were more … acceptable.

The satros, once human, now composed of evil and power worked on, nonstop. Eight of them were captains and eight were lieutenants, they working together under the discipline and censure of Xzuron. They were a head shorter than the morags and were cowled and robed in black just like their master. Their eyes showed an unnatural red from within their hoods, a red the color of blood and of the hot lava that flowed in the veins of the mountain. Around their necks on thick gold chains, each wore a flat blood red stone about the size of a small chicken egg but as thin as a coin. They showed no emotion. They acted and moved as extensions of Xzuron. Eight attended the platform, a steady stream of energy flowing from the solid rock floor beneath them, to the stones around their necks and on to the platform, giving life and shape where there had been nothing but air. The other eight satros stood beside the dark figure of Xzuron as he gazed with pleasure at his rapidly growing army. After an hour, the satros would change places and the standing eight would take up the forming of the large gray beings while those that had been forming would assume the positions next to their master.

Tordaqs, great bat-like creatures from a different age, soared through the smoke and fume laden air of the cavern. These were the mounts